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by Katuary



Series: Thunder and Lightning [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue-Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Heavy Fluff, Light Angst, Warrior Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katuary/pseuds/Katuary
Summary: Hawke is a hugger. Anders isn’t quite used to it.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke
Series: Thunder and Lightning [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1477754
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





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**Author's Note:**

> Have some tooth-rottingly sweet cuddle time, on the house!

Anders stumbled to the mattress face first, grumbling. Hawke turned from the wardrobe with a snort.

"Sweetheart," she called, toeing off her socks, "You're going to regret not changing out of your robes."

More grumbles. She laughed and closed the distance to their bed in two long strides, dropping to her knees beside him.

"Roll over, you," she chided, lightly poking his hip, "I can't reach the buckles from here."

Some incomprehensible mumbling followed, muffled by the thick blanket he'd stuffed his face into. Hawke laughed,

"Come again?"

He turned his head to the side, a faint smile on his face, "I'm not sure I have enough energy to be much use to you tonight, love."

She scoffed and leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I don't care about that. I just want you comfortable." She gently unwound the tie from his hair, slingshotted it carelessly to the side, and lightly massaged her fingertips into his scalp. She swore he _purred_ when she did that just right. "You _know_ those rings dig in if you wear your coat overnight. And I'll be damned if you're wearing boots in our clean bed."

"So _choosy_ all of a sudden." He smirked, "Whatever happened to the woman who brought a scraggly apostate home from the sewers?"

He _constantly_ said things like that. It drove Hawke mad. "You may have to be more specific," she teased, resting one hand in the small of his back and coaxing tangles from his hair with the other, "I don't recall anyone particularly scraggly. Might you be referring to the _ruggedly_ handsome healer with a heart of gold?"

He sighed, eyes fluttering shut again as his voice dropped to a murmur, "Can't imagine what you mean."

Maker, he was stubborn. She kissed the spot behind his ear, relishing the hum of contentment he made, "I think you do. Now, are you going to let me help you into some nightclothes?" She grinned, "You won't even have to move a muscle. I can flip you like a pancake if you ask nicely."

That earned her a laugh, "Oh, I don't doubt that."

"Is that what you want then?"

"Something slightly gentler than 'pancake,' I hope."

"You asked for it. Bridal carry it is."

* * *

Soon enough, they were both properly attired. Thin as Anders was under his usual coats and feathers, Hawke’s nightclothes fit him remarkably well, aside from being short in the arms and legs. He’d repeatedly refused her offer to have a matching set made for himself, and she suspected he liked sharing. Hawke herself certainly didn’t object; it made her feel like they were an old married couple.

Once they were situated, Hawke flicked the rich bed covers over them both. As the fabric settled, she scooted in close and spooned him, sighing happily as her knees tucked behind his. Breathing in his scent, feathering occasional kisses down the back of his neck, it still felt like a miracle. The Maker himself would be hard-pressed to oust her from their bed.

"This is nice," he murmured.

She hummed in agreement and lightly traced her fingertips over his collarbone. "Which part?" she teased, "Having a personal attendant put your nightclothes on?"

"It's..." He squeezed her hand gently, holding it over his heart, "...it's silly, I suppose."

"I love silly." She burrowed in closer, tucking her face against his neck and nuzzling the rough underside of his chin, "What's nice? If you tell me, I'll do more of it."

"Just...you holding me." Warmth spread through Hawke's chest until she heard his bitter laugh, "It's not something I've had much of an opportunity to experience."

Her heart plummeted. Of course. Relationships in the Circles weren't the same. Stolen moments in between templar interruptions, and certainly no easy way to spend a full night in another's arms. Not without getting caught. Not without letting the templars know there was something they could take away.

"I can work with that." She gently tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear and brushed her lips against his neck, "I have it on good authority I'm an _excellent_ cuddler. There may have been trophies."

He laughed and stretched luxuriously, "Is that so?"

Hearing the smile in his voice only encouraged her. "Mhm. And if you haven't realized? I _love_ touching you. I told you about the filthy things I used to fantasize doing with you, but..." She laughed softly, "There were so many times I wished I could hug you. Hold your hand. Fix your hair."

She had caught herself reaching for him sometimes, then immediately hoping he hadn't seen her doing so. He didn't want to be touched, she had thought. It was fine. Several of her friends felt that way. Sebastian thought it inappropriate, Fenris despised the unpredictability, and Aveline just plain wasn't physically affectionate. The last thing she wanted was to cause them discomfort.

"I like being the one who makes you smile." She eased a leg over his hip and tugged him flush to her chest with a chuckle, "Even if I can't see it right now."

"Always knew you were a secret romantic."

"Oh, you're one to talk. Do you even listen to yourself? I just spit out whatever's on my mind. _You're_ the one who could inspire a generation of romantic poets."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Was he blushing? Oh, she could certainly take advantage of _that_. Hawke cleared her throat dramatically, "'For three years, I have lain awake every night _aching for you._ ' Tell me that doesn't belong in a noble love letter."

He chuckled and kissed her palm. "Perhaps. But you love it, don't you?"

"Excuse _you_ , ser, I am a _lady_. I must be wooed _properly._ ” She flung a hand over his chest, as if she were clutching her own heart in outrage, “Such scandalous words are nearly more than my highborn heart can bear."

"I think you may have skipped a few of the more traditional steps, love."

"Ah, yes. The fucking." She grinned at Anders' choked snort, "That _will_ get in the way of ladyship every time. I shall mourn my sullied reputation."

”Can’t say I regret contributing to your downfall.”

”Well, I would certainly _hope_ not.”

His quiet laughter shook against her chest again and she beamed in satisfaction. Hawke tucked her face against his shoulder and pressed a final kiss there before closing her eyes,

”Goodnight.”

One last gentle squeeze to bring him even closer, and a sigh of contentment when he held her hand in return,

”Goodnight, love.”


End file.
